


Obviously

by whatkindofnameisella



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, oh jeez it only took me a month and a half to start writing the prompts people sent me, prompted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:55:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24081685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatkindofnameisella/pseuds/whatkindofnameisella
Summary: His poor rolling pin technique is the only reason she crosses the counter to him, he reasons, the only reason she gets so close and places a hand on his arm to nudge him away. He only stays close to her once she has done it because it is obviously the best way to learn how to do it right. Her hands only touch his as he lets go of the rolling pin because, obviously, that is the best place to hold it. Obviously.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41





	Obviously

**Author's Note:**

> i am finally starting to chip away at some prompts people sent me forever ago. this one is for the prompt "baking"!

His poor rolling pin technique is the only reason she crosses the counter to him, he reasons, the only reason she gets so close and places a hand on his arm to nudge him away. He only stays close to her once she has done it because it is obviously the best way to learn how to do it right. Her hands only touch his as he lets go of the rolling pin because, obviously, that is the best place to hold it. Obviously.

“Caleb, you’re never going to get anything done if you roll it out like that.” She chastises, looking up from beneath her unfairly long eyelashes – unfairly long eyelashes that are _unfairly_ close to his face. “If you try and use your arms, like this,” and she makes an overdramatic imitation of what he was just doing, shaking her arms and pressing against the pin, a weak grimace on her face. Beau cackles. She’s only doing it like that, with her extremely toned, extremely freckled arms flexing a couple inches from his face, because it is obviously the best way to show him his mistakes. Obviously. She stops her mocking and looks back up to him again, a _no duh_ look on her face. "You are never going to get anything done."

He blinks and clears his throat, because no, he will _not_ wipe away the smudge of flour she seems to be unaware is on her nose, however great the impulse may be. “I was not aware there was another way to do it.” 

“Well,” and she takes one hand off of the rolling pin to gesture with, because the world will come to an end before Jester Lavorre stops speaking with her hands, “There is. Observe.” She leans over the dough and begins to roll it out, fixing the uneven lumps he made as she does so. If you’d asked him how what she was doing now was different from what he had been doing before, he would not have been able to tell the difference. He bites his lip and fights the urge to smile. 

“And what, may I ask, are you doing differently?”

She sucks her teeth, looking back up to him, “ _Obviously_ , Caleb, I am using my body weight, instead of my strength.”

“Body weight?” Veth chimes in from down the table. They had to get her a stool, but she’s done much better than most of them – three whole circles of pastry dough are next to her on the counter, compared to Caleb’s measly zero. “He doesn’t have any to use!”

The whole table erupts into various degrees of laughter, and Jester turns away from the dough to let out a snort at his side. It’s a heavenly sound. 

When she regains enough composure to turn back to him, one hand over her mouth, still unabashedly split open in a smile, her eyebrows are knit together in some sort of apology. She pinches his arm and starts to giggle again, and – she cannot be so ignorant as to not know what she is doing, cannot be so naive as to think this is harmless, because this is – this – 

“It’s true, Caleb,” she manages out, chest still shaking, and _lord_ , he wishes she would let her laughter run free, even if just so he could get the chance to bask in the sound, “I mean, you don’t have much of either, really.”

He finds himself, in rebellion of the restrictions he has taught himself, smiling. “Since when have I denied it?”

She lets her hand fall away from her mouth and steps back, the grin giving way to a fond, small smile. He wants to kiss it, almost does, before – he is in a kitchen, surrounded by their friends, surrounded by her, and – he should not. He will not. It is not his place. The thought still stands, though.

She raises her eyebrows and gestures to the countertop. “Well?” She nods her head in its direction. “You can still give it a try.”

“Oh, do not worry about me, I am a great learner.” He assures, mock seriousness lowering his voice and knitting his eyebrows together. He steps up to the countertop and begins to use the rolling pin again. Gods, he is _shit_ at this. The dough is already beginning to get lumpy.

She is either not looking or happy enough to be amused at his struggles. Either way, she skips back around to the other side of the kitchen table, to her own perfectly rolled out sheets of pastry dough ready to be placed onto pie. 

Obviously, the only reason they lock eyes afterwards is because she is checking to make sure that he is doing a good job, it just _happens_ to send a zing down his spine from the top of his skull. She only laughs because, because – 

This is ridiculous, and she has flour on her nose, and his dough is lumpy and uneven because he spent the first fifteen years of his life on a farm and apparently learnt nothing from it. Obviously, they only break gaze, look back down to their hands, because it is the reasonable thing to do. Making pie dough is very serious, you know, you have to watch what you’re doing to make sure it doesn’t spread into a weird shape. It is only a coincidence that his face is so hot, that he thinks of her touching his arm a moment ago and suddenly feels as though he can’t breathe – obviously, the fire is too high, and somebody should really tell Caduceus to turn it down, really, you’re not – are you supposed to sweat while making pastries? Caleb doesn’t think so.

Obviously.


End file.
